The Alley
Between buildings, gathering garbage and weeds,
The alley provides passage, a shortcut that leads
To sunlight, glistening cars, front doors.
The alley’s dim, full of things to ignore:
Dented, wet cardboard, plastic bags
Swollen like demon balloons, scraps and rags
And those that live in it. Dickens would feel at home
In the soot and trash. The smell of what we’ve thrown
Away offends us, but we tolerate
The stink because we’re only on our way,
Passing through. Walk swiftly, and join
the pedestrian public, safe as the faces of coins.
'safe as the faces of coins' is a clever ambiguity, playing on safe as banks, which is a little ironic these days, added to the fact that we all have a pocketful of coins with the Queen or Ceasar or whoever worn almost off. So how safe are we in these public places?
ReplyDeleteYes I agree...are we ever safe?!
ReplyDeleteThey are all great poems. Cool clever, great sounds and tones, I like them a lot.
ReplyDelete